


we’re never done with killing time (can I kill it with you?)

by blafard



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Artist Andrew Minyard, Falling In Love, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Muse Neil Josten, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blafard/pseuds/blafard
Summary: The charcoal stained Andrew's fingers a deep grey, left behind similar stains on the delicate bone of Neil's ankle and Andrew hesitated a moment before wiping it away again.Neil's body didn't need more marks he didn't ask to be put there.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 21
Kudos: 252





	we’re never done with killing time (can I kill it with you?)

**Author's Note:**

> title from '400 lux' by lorde

Andrew's old leather jacket smelled like a mixture of sweat and smoke, but the way Neil burrowed deeper into the worn fabric and acted like it was the best smell he's ever come across, made something fragile clench in Andrew's chest.

Light rain fell from the clouds high above the buildings of the heart of Paris, and Andrew fought the shivers trying to crawl up his spine, the lack of a jacket making itself known, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for the jacket wrapped around Neil's shoulders.

A few droplets caught in long, dark eyelashes and for a moment Andrew longed for his sketchbook, a need growing in him to put what he saw onto paper and make it into something permanent.

But the moment passed when Neil met his gaze, a question in his eyes.

"Staring," Andrew said, looking away again, because sometimes he can't bear to look into the deep blue of Neil's eyes and unravel under his gaze.

"You were looking at me first," he retorted, and if Andrew would be a stronger man, someone a little more honest, he'd agree and tell him that he was mesmerized by the way the red of his hair grew darker as rain descended onto them, was taken by the way he tightened his hold on Andrew's old leather jacket and made himself a _home_ in the fabric Andrew wore like an armor on normal days, on days were boys like Neil didn't burrow deeper into the worn fabric and pretended it was more than just a jacket that smelled like smoke and sweat.

* * *

  
They're lying in bed one early morning, because that's a thing they're doing now after they _fuck_ ; lying together under the same sheet and pretend like there's no world outside the tiny window opposite of the mattress on the floor Andrew called his bed.

Sleep was a far away thought barely entertained by either of them, their skin a little tacky with drying sweat and the smell of sex a little overwhelming but still bearable enough to stay a little while longer.

Andrew had always been softer in the early mornings, so when Neil asked "Do you sleep with all your muses?" he didn't scoff and tell Neil to fuck off like he usually would. Instead, he said, "Only the ones with tragic pasts," and hoped that Neil wouldn't look at him with that understanding look in his too blue eyes, his ridiculously long eyelashes framing them in a way Andrew hadn't managed to capture quite right yet.

He pressed a hand over Neil's eyes when he did, and tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach as soon as Neil went pliant beneath his touch.

Andrew wasn't someone Neil should let his guard down around like that, wasn't someone Neil should smile at as if he was responsible for every little kindness offered to him, but the fact that he did drove Andrew mad with a feeling he didn't dare name.

* * *

The first thing Andrew had noticed about Neil on a sunny day on the streets of Paris, weren't the prominent scars that covered almost every part of Neil's body, it wasn't the bright red of his hair or how he flinched when someone brushed against him, it was how expressive the blue of his eyes was, glaring at nothing and everything at the same time.

The twitch in Andrew's hands, that need to pick up the exact same shade of blue was so strong that Andrew visited every single crafts store around the campus of his university until he admitted defeat and came to terms with the fact that the blue of Neil's eyes was too fierce to mimic the way he wanted to.

* * *

Neil looked like a dream come true in the mess of blankets that covered Andrew's bed, and he ached to touch the soft skin of his wrists, feel that steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips, ached to touch the delicate bones of his ribcage, run his fingers over scars he had already memorized and traced a hundred times, in the dark, with the sun just appearing on the horizon and every single second inbetween.

His touch was soft, softer than Andrew had ever been with himself, as he arranged Neil's legs the way he wanted to. When Andrew _pulled_ Neil _gave_ and wasn't that just incredibly strange in itself?

The way Andrew was able to move Neil without him complaining spoke of trust Andrew wasn't sure he deserved, spoke of familiarity and long hours of doing what they did now.

The charcoal stained Andrew's fingers a deep grey, left behind similar stains on the delicate bone of Neil's ankle and Andrew hesitated a moment before wiping it away again.

Neil's body didn't need more marks he didn't ask to be put there.

* * *

"Aren't artists supposed to seek perfection in their pieces?"

The question was random, something to break the silence that reigned over them for the past hours, something to fill up space that didn't need to be filled in the first place, but sometimes Neil was tired of being still, of existing next to Andrew without really existing. He wanted his presence to be seen, to be heard and listened to.

So, Andrew humored him, the tip of his cigarette an angry red in the darkness of the night.

"Perfection is boring," he said, his mind already otherwise occupied, always somewhere else, focused on something just out of reach, always two steps ahead Neil's own.

"What about me then? Am I boring?" And there was something almost _desperate_ in Neil's voice, the need for an answer he was searching for, for a long time, the need to hear Andrew speaking his mind, what really happened behind those unreadable hazel eyes.

Andrew watched Neil wait for an answer and thought _danger_.

"Not usually. But this conversation bores me."

His answer was not what Neil wanted to hear, he knew, but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to give him what he desperately needed.

* * *

"Can I see it?" Neil asked, the question tentative, gesturing towards the sketchbook on top of Andrew's unused desk. Andrew followed the delicate bone of Neil's wrist, over his fingers, the small cuts that would soon turn into more scars and then zeroed in on the book in question.

He contemplated it for a second, imagined Neil rifling through the pages, watching his face as he realized that Andrew only ever drew him, no matter how many times they were exploring the city with Andrew sitting down to draw, imagined how he would blush when he stumbled over pages on pages of himself laid bare, drawn at his most vulnerable with nothing but the night to bear witness to him unraveling.

Andrew didn't think that he was quite ready for Neil to see it, to see how Andrew's mind worked, to understand what was behind the blank stare and callused hands.

"No," he answered simply, no hint of emotion in his voice. He watched Neil's face crumple slightly, but he never did believe in regret, so he didn't take it back.

"Not yet," he found himself saying almost involuntarily. Neil's eyes crinkled at the sides, a smile slipped onto his lips, something so familar on them nowadays. Andrew longed to feel those lips on his own again.

"Not _yet_?" He bit into his lip, the soft flesh giving away under the pressure of his sharp teeth, a twinkle in his blue, _blue_ eyes that screamed trouble. Andrew frowned.

"Stop biting your lips," he said, trying to distract from the want cursing through his veins. His fingers pulled the tender flesh free. His fingertips lingered on his pink lips another moment, before he let his hand fall back to his side again.

"You could always bite them for me," the other boy replied cheekily.

Andrew wanted to smother him, wanted to wipe that silly grin off his face, wanted to make his toes curl much like they did the night before. Instead of doing any of these things he simply said, "Don't be stupid." and left to smoke another cigarette, trying desperately to pretend that his heart didn't stutter in his chest at the way Neil looked at him.

* * *

Neil's lips wrapped around Andrew's fingers, sucking on them like they're his favorite candy in the world, looked fucking obscene. For a moment, Andrew feared that he wouldn't be able to breathe in enough oxygen to survive, but then Neil closed his blue, _blue_ eyes and hummed around his digits and the moment passed and made room for hot arousal.

The sheets were tangled around their bodies in a way that felt like they're shielding them from everything outside of their little bubble and Andrew was careful when he finally trailed those same fingers down, over Neil's chest, adorned by colorful marks that would fade within a day, the bones of his ribs, his hips and finally disappeared between Neil's spread legs.

Moaning, Neil threw his head back and briefly Andrew entertained the idea of sinking his teeth into the delicate flesh of Neil's throat, marking him as something he wasn't, something he would never be.

Then he caught Neil's mouth with his own and swallowed the desire to make him _his_.

* * *

The balcony belonging to his flat was a tiny, little thing with a nice enough view over the city from the sixth floor his apartment was in. Warm sunlight always found it's way through the glass door and into his apartment and when the walls seemed to close in on him, Andrew liked to step out of the cramped space and light up a few cigarettes he would discard after a handful of pulls of smoke that didn't satisfy him.

This time he wasn't alone, this time Neil stood beside him, an old sweatshirt of Andrew's hanging from his frame and Andrew already thought about the way he could replicate the warm glow of the sun dancing over Neil's tan skin.

"Have you ever thought about moving into a bigger apartment?" he asked, his voice quiet but with a curious edge to it, Andrew knew all too well by now.

He breathed in another pull of his cigarette before passing it off to Neil.

"This is nothing permanent," he responded, and for a second he didn't quite know what he meant with _this_ , but it didn't matter because neither this apartment nor them would be permanent.

Andrew told himself that he imagined the flash of hurt he saw cross Neil's face, before facing the railing of the balcony again.

"I can draw no matter where I am," he added as an afterthought.

He didn't know whether he tried to remind Neil or himself of that.

* * *

Andrew felt stripped bare beneath the weight of Neil's eyes, felt like an open book that few people actually chose to read, felt as if his chest had been broken open and made to fit Neil beneath the space of his heart and it _terrified_ him.

Because this was never meant to be anything more than a way to waste time, this was never supposed to mean more than _nothing_ , never supposed to be something that made Andrew feel so much, never meant to be something so overwhelming.

Even now, with Neil completely naked in front of him, he felt the most vulnerable.

It didn't make any sense and Andrew wanted it to stop. _Immediately_. But at the same time he _didn't_ and it was confusing, to be so torn between two things he would have never had to choose from before, before he met Neil, before he decided to let him in.

His fingers lingered on Neil's skin this time, knowing that it might be the last time he would ever touch the other boy.

The pencil between his fingers felt heavy, the paper of his sketchbook thin, so many pages filled with every inch of Neil he got to explore, to touch and _taste_.

"I'm leaving Paris," he said then, sudden like he didn't plan on it, ridding his voice of any emotion and failing. Neil looked accepting, as if he expected this. And maybe he did.

"I've never been to Italy and I heard it's supposed to be incredible," he added, almost like he tried to apologize for something he didn't need to be sorry for.

He never said that this was something more than it was. He never pretended that he could give Neil something he obviously wanted from him, _with_ him.

_And yet._

And yet he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Come with me. Yes or no."  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked this. I had a lot of fun writing this and it actually turned out like I wanted it to. 
> 
> I'd really love comments & kudos! thank u for reading <3


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